P is for Pain.

P Is For Pain☺

It was dark when Frank woke up, dark and cold. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but he knew it definitely wasn't his bedroom, and this definitely wasn't his bed; Frank's bed was soft and warm and it has nice, beige, expensive sheets, that he had worked hard to afford. This bed was merely a hard, old mattress that smelt of vomit and other vile things. Frank was aware of someone else by his side and a sizeable amount of dread rose in his throat, he was just praying he hadn't gone and had sex with a random stranger, that would be his worst nightmare, but the fact that his arms were tied tightly behind him and that he could feel what he could only assume to be blood trickling down his forehead reassured him that he hadn't just got laid. That was a breath of relief. A breath which was soon held tight when other possibilities of how Frank had come to be in this strange prediciment rushed into his mind, which was slow working anyway considering the large quantities of alcohol that he often drunk. He had a large headache and really wanted to go back to sleep. Deciding against his wish to sleep, he managed to roll over and see who the other person was.

Frank let out a shriek when he found himself face to face with a pale almost destroyed face. Frank's face lay in a wet pool of sticky blood, which made him feel most uncomfortable as he stared into the face of this dead being. On the whole side Frank was facing, the cheek had been completely pulled apart, exposing bone and muscle, one bone was extruding at an unnatural angle. The left eyeball having been pulled out, entirely, the muscle that attached it to the brain had been cut, neatly, like you would cut a sheet of paper, as opposed to the destruction of the rest of the face. The person's nose was shattered and bent to the right at a horrible angle and in the remaining eye a look of sheer horror was somehow maintained.

Upon looking down Frank found that their chest had been cut open, like you would cut open a corpse for an autopsy, like it had been cut open by a professional pathologist. Inside their chest it looked as if some of the organs had corroded, as if they had dissolved, like acid had been dripped onto them, Frank could see what he could only assume to be their heart, it had deep gouges in it and, sickeningly, a knife was still stuck in it. Frank could even see the ribs of the person, they were all embedded in between muscle and flesh, but two on the opposite side that he was laying on, had been cracked, like you'd snap a piece of plastic, bones were strong, but here right in front of Frank they looked oh-so-fragile! One of the ribs had stuck at an angle and punctured a lung, well, Frank assumed it had, he wasn't much of a doctor, in fact he wasn't anything of a doctor, but the lung had been lifted partly so it seemed that it was hanging off the cracked, ragged end of the rib. The other just had a small "hairline fracture". Frank remembered that term from when he had jumped off of a climbing frame and broken his arm. 


"Ahhh, enjoying the sights, are we?" came a crude voice, a low voice; it was a man, Frank's head whipped round and he tried to find where the voice came from, but dark shadows in the corner of the dark room obstructed him from doing so. The cold voice had struck fear into his head, along with many other feelings and he suddenly felt the need to cry and scream until this man stopped him from doing so or until he could scream no more. Frank dared not answer him. 
 "It's okay, I'm perfectly harmless," the man said, he chuckled, "when I want to be." Frank didn't need a translator to know that he had just been threatened. 


"Who are you?" Frank managed to croak out swallowing harshly, his bravery reaching an all time high, the adrenaline pumping high and making his restrained hands to shake and his palms to become sweaty. 


"My name's Gerard Way, but you can call me Gee, if you like" the mystery man revealed himself, even though Frank couldn't see him, he knew the man was smiling, and with that thought he couldn't help but wonder what the man looked like. 
Was he beautiful? Maimed? Ugly? Frank hoped he was pretty, but then got sickened by his own thought. It was clear Gerard had murdered, mutilated the corpse next to him and all Frank could think about was the man's looks! That sickened Frank, but he allowed himself some justice, he was trying to take his mind off of how scared he was, that was all, Frank told himself. As if Gerard knew what Frank was battling in side his mind with, he stepped out of the pitch-black cavity of the room and into the dimly lit space right in front of Frank.

Frank found his hopes were true, as he looked up at the man, Gerard's skin was unmarked, but splattered with red liquid and just a few tones away from being pale, his eyes shone in the dim light, his eyes didn't look cold, like his voice sounded, his eyes looked like a hive of excitement and intelligence. His lips seemed perfect, chiseled and a pale pink color, the kind of lips you see on a statue of a Greek God in a historical museum. His nose was small and cute yet defined; Frank screwed his eyes tight shut when he found himself describing the man's physical features. He opened his eyes again and found Gerard looking down at him weakly smirking, making him look all the more desirable to Frank, who currently, felt annoyed with his inner consciousness. Why was he seeing this murderer as sexy?! That was just plain wrong, he thought, then again, was it really? Just because he had murdered someone, that doesn't mean Frank couldn't want him. Maybe this whole ordeal had just messed with Frank's mind, thus making him insane, thus making it okay to want to kiss the murderer stood in front of him. 


"Why am I here?" Frank questioned again.


"Because-," Gerard made a sudden movement towards Frank and Frank jumped, becoming startled, bracing himself for being pulled apart, like the person beside him, but all the murderer did was get out a pen knife and cut open the plastic binds holding Frank's wrists together, "Because, I have been watching you and you looked interesting." 
Frank was flattered, his tone softened slightly. 


"What are you going to do to me?" Frank asked, staring up into the murderers eyes, still trying to fight the intense feelings and find some way that his consciousness could win the battle; on one hand, he was lying next to a mutilated body, on the other, the murderer was beautiful. Maybe none of this was as sick and twisted as he thought; maybe he should just stop caring, now. Gerard sighed, grabbed the corpse and deposited it onto the floor as easily as someone with no moral rights would discard a piece of litter, he placed a blanket over most of the blood, covering up the site, and then sat on the end of the bed, facing Frank, who was beginning to get nervous all over again; partly because the gorgeous man was so near him but partly because he didn't know what Gerard was going to do. 


"Well, I suppose it's better if I'm honest with you," Gerard smiled, a small, defeated smile, "Well, I like you, so maybe, I might rape you, I mean, who knows, right?" Gerard grinned then, and that frightened Frank, "I'll most probably torture you, like little cuts, I prefer cuts than bruises, don't know why, I always have, so, yes I'll probably torture you, because I like torture, it's interesting and fun. But torture sounds like such a horrible word; I don't like saying it much."
 Frank raised his eyebrows, and they hid in his dark hair, his eyes widened, but he tried to remain cool; he was hoping for a good impression of himself to be set into Gerard, maybe that way, things would be a little less painful, a little less traumatic. 


"But I definitely won't kill you," Gerard assured him; being hardly any comfort, "I definitely won't kill you; I want to keep you, but that complicates things a bit," Gerard seemed to not really be talking to Frank, he was more informing Frank but talking to himself. 
 "Well, I'm sure we'll get through, somehow," Gerard concluded, smiling once again at Frank, who couldn't help but feel a tingling sensation on the back of his neck and all down his spine. Frank nodded, hanging on his every word, as if he were a priest. Frank grimaced, angry with himself. He shouldn't be doing this, he thought; he was the good guy, the nice guy, the guy who wanted to get in bed with the man who kidnapped him.

Frank almost screamed in frustration, he felt so strange, so sick, so twisted, so dirty. But he wanted to believe he was the innocent here; the victim, but then again, he wanted to survive; he wanted to live past another day, to go home, do nothing, to drink coffee and play guitar and be with Gerard. 
 No! Not with Gerard, Frank told himself. Gerard just sat and seemed to be watching the mental battle Frank was having, as if he could see it all in front of him, like harsh words thrown in a playground fight. He still sat with that same weak smirk plastered on his pretty little face, as if he knew he was that wanted, that lusted for. Perhaps he did, but maybe he didn't. If it weren't for his black hair being slightly greasy and few specks of blood on his face and clothes, he'd be a teenage heartthrob, Frank was sure. Frank bought a hand to his face and chewed on his nails, all the while keeping eye contact with his would-be-murderer. 


"Well, are you going to do anything?" Frank dared to ask. That was when it happened; suddenly, Gerard snapped, he lunged forward and pushed Frank back, straddling his middle and keeping him captive. At first, Frank struggled, he screamed and almost cried, but held back the tears; he didn't want Gerard to think he was a wimp; that might only provoke him. So he just lay still and quietly tried to abate the whimpering that was straining to push out of his mouth. He bit his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes tight shut when Gerard withdrew a sharp, shining switchblade from his pocket. He ran a pale hand over the blade lightly, the skin broke but only slightly, it didn't bleed, nor sting, it was hardly noticeable, except to Gerard, but Gerard wasn't paying any attention, he was staring down at Frank and he wanted to kiss him, so badly, but he couldn't; a kiss would probably send Frank over the edge he was dangerously leaning over.

Gerard pushed Frank's shirt up and off then pushed the blade on to his skin, pushing it just hard enough to break the skin and make him bleed, just hard enough for it to sting and hurt, hard enough to make him want to wriggle and move, so the pain would stop but not hard enough to make him scream, Gerard used the blade with artistic talent; moving quickly, writing words and drawing patterns; making a picture, a masterpiece; artwork. Frank lay, submissively underneath the artist, biting on his lip harder as the pain grew, letting out a few whimpers only at an especially hard part of the masterpiece, like a curved line or a line that needed to be a bit deeper to release more color, more blood.

Frank kept as still as possible and tried not to buck his hips; if he did, his erection would be noticed and the blade would probably sink further into his skin. Both of those consequences weren't appealing to Frank. So, he continued to lay while Gerard worked, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in sheer concentration, Frank thought he looked adorable, if anything. Then, suddenly; euphoria, bliss, joy, jubilation; Gerard had stopped, he was finished. Frank looked up and saw Gerard breathing heavily, looking down at Frank chest; the art had covered his chest and stomach.

Without warning, Frank sat up rapidly and roughly pressed his lips against Gerard's. Frank grunted and forced his tongue into Gerard's mouth, taking advantage of the man's surprise. Their tongues touched and played as they lay back down on the old mattress. Frank ran his hand down Gerard's back as they lay and Gerard moaned, grunting, he unbuckled Frank's belt with fumbling hands and pulled off the tight black jeans and boxers, which hid Frank's hard on. Not wanting to be the only naked one, Frank helped Gerard in taking off his own clothing. Once unclothed, Gerard waited impatiently for Frank to ready himself and then pushed into Frank. He grunted and began at a slow pace, speeding up when the feeling of ecstasy mounted up inside.

He worked fast and hard, much like with his artwork, pumping into Frank with a force. All the while, Frank was moaning, cursing and calling Gerard's name. Gerard gritted his teeth as the mounted up ecstasy exploded within him and he released white, hot liquid into Frank, just as Frank himself released. The two men lay breathing heavily, beside each other; the victim and the murderer had gone; now it was just two lusting people, two loving people. Gerard stared down at the artwork that he had made, the blood had smudged and dried, but it was still visible. Intricate patterns had formed in swirls and sharp turns, scrapes and cuts no longer looked vicious; merely pretty, all these patterns merged into the centre, where Gerard had carved a phrase, none too heard of, none too used, none too meaningful, but it was still interesting. 


"P is for pain," Frank read, looking down at his chest and using a finger to trace over the words, smiling tentatively. All his morals disappeared as he melted into this moment, melted into the beautiful sin that was Gerard, as he turned a corner of the ever-winding road that was life.